Just Sayin'

Joe: So... I heard a rumor that you've come into some money? I'm in a bit of a tight spot myself...
Me: Well, I heard a rumor I kill people.
Joe: ... I've not heard that.
Me: I know. There's no basis for it. Yet.
Joe: Look, a giraffe riding a lawnmower! *runs away*
Me: Watch out for the land...mines. Well, rumors always have some kernel of truth.

It's all a bunch of Hooey.

You know, I've been thinking about my SOSE project (the quasi-novel) quite a bit, and if you go to my "Novel Ideas" post, you'll find quite a few spoilers I continually update so I don't forget them. The strangest part is, I had some preliminary ideas that were just a jumble, not interrconnected really, but I'd make them minorly so. Then I had an idea today and all of a sudden, I've got at three three themes and some pretty nice symbolism going on. There are some good ethical questions, some philosophy, conflicting messages, the works.

Unfortunately, it brings up three issues: One, can I pull it off? I think it's got some good, quality ideas. I'm familiar with the emotional parts (misanthropy, despair, idle curiosity, jealousy), and some arguments behind the philosophy and ethical sides. If my writing "skills" are up to the challenge, it might actually turn out pretty good. But, the second issue is that if I can't pull it off, the idea's largely destroyed. Perhaps if I saved it a few years and came back it might be better. Or perhaps I'd have lost interest by then. I don't know. So the final issue arises, what do I want out of this? To even dream of "publication" is pretentious and ludicrous in and of itself. So do I write it, turn it in, burn it out of self-loathing, and think "Yeah, I wrote a novel. It was terrible. That's why I've lost all ambition for anything better than contentment. Spiffy, eh?" Sounds good to me...

Vague Generalities just won't cut the thing.

Heh, you want a specific rant instead of the same general, meaningless complaints? You got it!

Well, today in English apparently Mr. Ross didn't want to do anything very productive. Not that I blame him, but his choice of an "alternative" wasn't exactly what I'd call "pleasant." First off, the activity was rather flawed because I felt like he focused too much on individuals (me) and not enough on everyone else. Now, I'm not bitter about the "spotlight." It's fine, I can handle it (Ellen smiling really helped, though; I was in panic mode). I suppose he called on me first because he had mistaken me for some acting person. I didn't know there were that many emaciated wretches out there; someone ought to feed them more. Anywho, first question was "What are you passionate about?" Well, being a Romantic-Nihilist, the only thing that comes out of the tolerable mean is a way to keep the average alive. When it fluctates in either way, I just can't function properly. Of course, that wasn't good enough for Mr. Ross. Apparently it's a part of my "personality." One of the benefits to such extensive self-introspection is that I'm rather familiar with my ways and manners. And Nirvana help me if I try to make my paltry existence tolerable instead of constantly maneuvering between opposite sides that somehow both manage to convince me I was as well kill myself. The thought occurs entirely too many times, but it passes much more frequently than it used to. Progress. The sort of progress that apparently shouldn't exist because my fickle emotions and philosophies are a part of my nature. No, my wayward preferences are due to the whole "opposite spectrum philosophies" thing, and, of course, the omnipresent fact that I simply don't care. When you don't care about so many things to a significant extent, you find that changing your mind about it really isn't that hard. Bleh.

Then he asks me what are my "hobbies." "Dyl old man," I think to myself, "your only hobby is self-denial and stress. That's not acceptable. You don't really spend much time doing anything that can be labelled with something like a 'name' or 'purpose.' I know, I'll say 'writing'!" Of course, then it occurs to me that I'm ashamed to call myself a writer because in some way it debases the entire profession. Anyway, I really had nothing else to say, so that was it. I immediately felt bad. Poor me. He asks me if I read. Of course I don't read! At my stage it's blatant escapism, and I don't want to steal ideas. For some reason, me not reading other people means I can't plagarize. That's one character for my novel-ish thing: the writer who never reads. You can imagine the parodies that ensue.

He then asks me what I dislike. So, of course, I say "sadism." It defiles both parties, especially physical torment, and you can't prevent it. It's a horrible but all too frequent motivator. But that's not good enough. It sounds too "idealistic." What does he want, "Republicans", "hippies", "Jews"? It's like he held me in contempt for not being truthful, even though I was being honest. What else could I do? It's not possible to despise ideas and behaviors instead of behav...yees?

Meh, I don't really care. It just annoys me when people have presumptive attitudes. I'll take constructive criticism, (it'd be nice if you people would try it sometime), but when you say it with the idea that you are right and no one else can be...

Other classes, beginning to become less frightening. In calculus my brain wouldn't work for the life of me. Better study I guess.

But... it's not entirely grim. We'll see. Goodnight!

"All the lonely people"

I've mentioned it before, but have you ever scanned the archives of someone's journal? It tells a veritable story itself. It's fragmented and you only get snippets of continuing "storylines" here and there, but that sort of adds to the charm. There's also a feeling of "forbidden fruit" to reading a journal uninvited. I suppose, in many ways, it's perverse. But most of the time, if you want privacy it's easily attainable. So my rationale is "it's asking to be read." It's an interesting experience, following the mental paths of others. You gain more insight into their character, their true thoughts and feelings. It often seems to me that I don't know other people too well; their likes, dislikes, character, philosophies etc. Yet, if you've followed their journal, you feel better connected. Especially if they go past the mundane. Once there is something considered "personal", the bond truly begins. What you did today isn't all that worthy of a journal. What you thought and felt, though, that's something. Real emotion is the goal. And when outsiders view that emotion, your character becomes more defined. In a way, it's like mind-reading. Except controlled.

When you really see other people, not their shells with faces slapped on coming out the door (two references to the song, 10 nihilist points for the one who gets it right first), you realize how similiar your feelings are. How many times has suicide occurred to the people you know? How close did their insecurity and depression bring them all the way to the brink? Aren't they as lonely and wayward as yourself? The answer is quite surprising. Sometimes it can give you comfort, to see that you aren't alone. Sometimes that very fact is even more depressing. I think it's evidence that we should get to know each other more. Perhaps not to be afraid of our peers and really see who they are in all their dynamic complexity. It's hard, at first, to let down your shields and expose your soul to the prying, unseen, greedy eyes of your peers. But after awhile, it sort of instills a better feeling of bravery. It's helped me, this journal, to become more confident. I can actually go crazy, know everyone thinks I'm a fool, and think "I may be, but at least I'm not bored or boring." And, for me, I like things to be spiced up. For instance, the other Dillan was alone during the "icebreakers" activity today, and I went up and talked to him. He didn't strike me as the brightest toupee in the wig bin, but he wasn't too bad a guy. People are people. Try to love em all, and really mean it. Maybe I'll learn how too.

Well, first day of school. Even after 13 times, I'm still scared of new classes with new people. Maybe it's the fear of being shown for the sciolist, the pretentious charalatan that I might be. I dunno, I hope I don't come across as supercilious or elitist. I certainly don't feel it. English just sort of brings out the inner egotist in you, as Mr. Ross rather demonstrated (his assessment, not mine). It's sort of odd, add "egotist/low self-esteem" to the list of my personal paradox I suppose. It would appear I can only be one of the other. Maybe I need work on it. If I can average Nihilism and Romanticism, surely that can't be too bad.

Heh, speaking of which, it was rather amusing today when Mr. Ross made a comment about the "dark" nature of the works we'd read. Believe it or not, the thought hadn't occurred to me. I've gone into the depths of nihilism and dark romanticism myself, so maybe everything seems at least a bit light by comparison. Despite my tenuous hold on "good" mental health, I feel as if there are few concepts that could really shock me. What could be worse than "everything is meaningless" and "everything is dark, gloomy, and hopeless?" Indeed, nihilism is very dangerous, but only when it's a result of determinism. Otherwise, it's not too bad. At least, it's easily defeated in the epic war of the philosophies.

Heh, I suppose we'll find out, won't we? Farewell!

Hiding in the Blood...

Heh, I've mentioned this before, but I have a great liking for religious music. None of that "popular Christian rock" junk. But the folk songs, or at least the music the more ... "aged" tend to sing. It's almost perverse, coming from one with the beliefs I hold, but they're just nice tunes. I guess I like the hope, joy, and generally uplifting themes. We won't go into criticism, we've all this semester in English for that.

Speaking of English, I'm gathering up ideas for my SOSE project. I figure it'll be a chain of short stories, related by insiginificant connecting events. Should be interesting, if I get motivated.

Well, all my books are done. One journal entry, three paragraphs of my essay, and I'm done! Hopefully this semester won't be too difficult. Ideally I'll get the board game club roarin' and rippin' up a quiet, serene storm. It will just depend on schedules. Hopefully I can extend to two days if I've interest. We'll have to see.

Right Under my Unsmelling Nose...

Well, it finally occurred to me that I can be a successful failure. It has quite a bit of tragic Romantic charm, but not only that, I can spite tragedy and actually be happy all the while being an utter failure. It'll be splendid.

So, I'm 336/940 pages through Karamazov. I read about 250pages yesterday and I need to get through 300 pages today to stay "on schedule." I dunno if I'll be able to do it, we'll just have to cross our fingers. I'd assume you're all in similiar straits, perhaps to a lesser extent than my own. Ah well. All this anti-Christian rhetoric really frustrates me. I'm not looking forward to the debating that may or may not occur. With God being such a popular theme in these books, hopefully people will know to keep an open mind. Heh, sure. Good luck in your reading, farewell!

Power

Today, in lieu of reading my much needed, but rather tedious summer reading, I watched two powerful movies about power figures. The first was the great "Citizen Kane", often lauded as the best movie made. The other was "The Lion in Winter." The former was a story of a man's life, his ups and downs, triumphs and tragedies, loves and losses set in the early 20th century. The latter was about a few days spent by King Henry II over Christmas during which his three sons fought for the right to be his successor. The interesting thing about both movies is that the main characters were, more often than not, miserable. Kane was a sort of "materialist" but, ironically, it was not for riches but approval that he lusted after. Henry II deals with his ever increasing age and the realization that none of his heirs is worthy, all the while plotting, scheming, and enduring barbs by the wife he had forsaken and locked away for years. The irony is that his three sons intensely desire to be King, when it's obvious it's more of a burden than a boon.

Now, this leads to a few interesting points. One is that to be called truly great, something must be powerful, moving, and there has to be conflict of dramatic proportions. Another is that even the great achievers, men looked up to, written in the history books, remembered for accomplishments the masses could never dream of suffered the entire time. Of course, both are fiction, both were manipulated stories to make the viewer intrigued and draw them inside the plot, and both cannot be taken as accurate representations of reality. Still, there's a great deal of truth to their points; "story truth", I suppose O'Brien would call it. Look at Mark Twain. A great man, a pioneer in American satire and literature, took on all institutions and went back for more. But was he ever content? Was he ever happy? Did that happiness last? If his last works are any indication, he possessed a rather bleak mindset. He had little hope for the present, future, or past. This is at once a lesson in the "benefits" of cynicism and the futility of perceived success.

(Cont. Sunday since I was kicked off on Saturday night)

So now I arrive at the same impasse I'm constantly plagued with. It would appear that I will be presented with three options: I can kill any irrational dreams I have and essentially be through with life, physically living but mentally dead, resting in a blissful but mundane peace of idle thoughts and resignation until I'm finally whisked away from this temporal existence; I can follow my laughable fool's errand, struggling all the while whether I be doomed to failure or some perverse definition of "success", living to the greatest extent I would theoretically allow myself but in the process suffering defeat after defeat in a long, heartbreaking stream; or I could skip the pleasantries and forgo this charade of experiences. The first is quite appealing as peace and happiness could be considered the one true measure of success, the second has a Romantic charm and is considered the "acceptable" way of attempting to live one's life in the mutual service to self and mankind, and the third is considered repugnant and despicable.

For those who are a tad lost, and I would hope it's all of you, the first choice is simply being content with teaching at a high school or lower tier college where there's little pressure, and I can essentially do whatever I want in a quasi-carefree environment. I'm fairly certain I could obtain peace and some measure of contentment if not even happiness there. The second would be to teach, but to also struggle, most likely in vain, to write something of some measure of entertainment and value to someone. In this route, I would constantly be under pressure to try to improve upon a qualitative skill with millions of competitors and a lottery's chance of becoming "published." My inferiority would constantly be shoved in my face by others or myself and there is a distinct possibility that I would never be able to amount to anything but a perpetual failure. The third is an option I constantly find myself having to reject, for it is the refuge of a tormented soul. It is an option that will fulfill itself eventually regardless of my path, and yet I'm loathe to even consider it for the stigma, pain, and futility of the action itself.

Given those choices, it would seem a rather simple decision to make. The first option practically guarantees a measure of contentment and peace which one of my stressful and self-conscious disposition would greatly value and benefit from. Yet, it would practically constitute spiritual suicide for I would have given up pushing myself and trying to accomplish. I would go through the motions of life with the sole purpose of existing for lack of a viable alternative until it would be acceptable to "shove off this mortal coil." If I killed my spirit, why not take my soul with it? But that too is unconscionable, for even though the pain and suffering would be futile and illogical, it would still exist and the ripple effect would be devastating. The actual act takes an amount of confidence and willpower I doubt I possess, at any rate, but the option constantly resurfaces.

Yet, there are three choices. Why even entertain the second if it is essentially certain to be agony? No one wants to sacrifice their mental health in a failure of no benefit to any entity. But why does anyone try to achieve anything? Deep down, we all know that all accomplishment will be eroded by the sands of time until we cease to exist. I feel the desire to create. I want to effect people the way fiction effects me, for it would seem that only by escaping can I transcend apathy and actually experience some level of meaningful emotion. I want to entertain, to better, to excel in a field of uncertainty so I can say I accomplished something of merit. Something that wasn't certain, that had a visible impact, and that I could, dare I say it, be proud of. A testament to my efforts, an active choice I made, and a goal, nay a dream, I fulfilled. But the actual accomplishment is of little consequence. No, I want to change people. I want to demonstrate diverse ways of looking at life. I want to show how every soul has an impact and meaning, how we have so many flaws we can cure but don't even realize we're inflicted of. But in the process, I would have created an engaging, moving, resonating work of art. Something powerful.

Yet, I still maintain that happiness is the only accurate measure of success. Would I not be a hypocrite if I gave up a chance at such an acme to pursue an uncertain dream, rolling loaded dice? How can I say to pursue happiness when I'm not even doing it myself? As you may have noticed, Nihilism has only corrupted part of me. The other, as demonstrated above, really does care. Romanticism, I suppose you could call it. Thus the problem: I don't care enough to give life meaning, but I do care enough to want to.

It is quite easy to label this is as teenage melodrama. A romanticized struggle over exaggerated issues with deluded results. There is no epic battle here. I can easily choose choice two and not suffer anything, for I would be prepared. Yet, if one's future is degraded to melodrama, what aspect of life isn't melodramatic? What is the point of pursuing a goal if you don't really care if you succeed? If I don't care about this decision, should I care about anything? No, life is as dramatic as you wish it. The question is, do you want to sleep, live, or die? At the moment, I'd rather not die. So I can live or sleep. Perhaps I could pursue option two and not care if I advanced or not, just enjoy the process. But I rather doubt I'd be able to accomplish much if I didn't care about it. I've got time to decide. I just can't wait forever.